Waste
by Son Rhandi
Summary: In an era where a second Depression has taken place, the Ginyu Force lives in destitution. Tales of their struggles are told from Jeice's POV throughout. (*COMPLETE*)
1. Prologue

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Disclaimer: Never owned DBZ, never will. Therefore, not my property. Talk to Toei and FUNimation for that crap.

This will be either my most ingenious work or the worst thing I've ever done. You be the judge.

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Waste

By Son Rhandi

Prologue

We got **so** fucking wasted last night… Recoom's over on the couch there, sleeping. I can smell the Wild Turkey on his breath from across the room. Guldo's next to 'im, lyin' on his side, cheek smothered in his own vomit. He was out before he even finished a half-bottle of Mike's, the little guy. Berter's awake there at the arm of the sofa, head brought to his knees and holding an empty can of Colt 45, a couple of used blunts in the wide mouth. I'll bet he's crying again. He does that sometimes after a night of booze and reefer. Ginyu's not here, but I smell eggs. Maybe he's fixin' up some breakfast for us, or maybe one of the guys just let one. Shit, I don't know. I need a shower real bad. Fuckin' plumbing's down again. All we got is the sinks and **those **are barely workin'…

I was thinkin' recently if this is an okay way to live, y'know? I'm not gonna lie; we've been leading the slum life ever since this whole economy thing went downhill. Politicians call it 'a severe economic slump,' but let's be honest, shall we? It's a goddamned depression. Hell, even I can see that. We all started getting' fired one by one... I was the first one to lose my job. I was over there at the old Food Lion. Y'know, nothin' fancy, just a cashier. I didn't bring home much to begin with, but it helped. Guldo there was next, worked at one o' those… What're they called? Those water-ridey things? Jet Skis! Yeah! He worked at a Jet Ski rental shop on the beach, that is, when people could afford stuff like that. 

Berter was always real smart. Hell, he actually got someplace… or at least to a place better than we were at. He was a, um… tour guide for that museum down the street. That one exhibit with the dinosaur bones and shit? Yeah, he was a guide for that section of it. Man, he loved that job. I remember he'd always be readin' up on the Jurassic Park period and velociraptors and all the stuff like that, always talking to whichever one of us passed by. We were lookin' at a picture book one time, and I saw a drawing of a poly, uh… poly… one o' those dinosaurs with the real hard heads. I told him he looked a lot like it. 'Nah. I'm a T-Rex,' he said, smiling. I never much cared about that sort of thing, really, but Bert'll go on and on about it for hours. He's a saurian-type so I guess that would be important to him. That old museum closed down a year ago. He's been real depressed ever since…

Then came Ginyu. Man, I'll never forget that day. Ol' Ginyu was a gym teacher, if you can believe it. Nothing but a teen jock at heart. The kids loved him, too, or so he told us. I was off that day, I remember, when he got laid off. Home watchin' some TV, don't recall what program was on, but he came in, looking all ragged. The sleeves of his jump suit were riddled with cigarette burns and his eyes were all red and puffy like he'd been crying or somethin'. He looked me dead in the eye; 'Mother-fuckers took my life' was all he said. I don't think him getting fired had anything to do with our turncoat consumer economy, but it was a sad day, in any case. Recoom's the only one who still has steady work now. Repairs roads for the state, so he's pretty secure and our only real source of income. The rest of us work odd jobs to get by. Thank God this apartment is cheap, even if it is a little cramped. 

Before all this shit went down, we'd have a few drinks and toke up every now and again, but the insane drinking and touch-and-go pot smoking started after Ginyu was fired. He wasn't there one morning and didn't come back till later that night. He held up like… 4 six-packs, a box of Mike's and five dime bags—one for each of us—and said to us, 'I spent the last of my cash on this shit. Let's kick back and forget six months in one night.' …We've been trying a whole year to forget. Beer and liquor and grass haven't help any, just burned a frickin' hole in everyone's pockets.

I know things are bad, but my god, what the hell gives us the right to do this to ourselves? 


	2. Landlord

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Waste 

Stage 01: "Landlord"

"Hey. Hey." Ginyu's pokin' at Berter. Blue wipes his snout, lookin' up at him, eyes redder than normal. "Eggs. Come on and eat."

I was right. "Hey, Jeice, wake Recoom and Guldo, would ya? Tell 'em to wash up, too."

Right man. Jesus Christ, these guys stink..! Come on now, wake up. I want some eggs. 'Coom's getting' up first, yawning, eyes all crusted and nasty. Ugh! Close your mouth! God… Go wash up and take Guldo with you! Messin' on the damn couch… Threw one of Bert's old flannel shirts on the spew. He won't mind, never does. Blue's pourin' coffee. Didn't even know we had a coffee maker… He probably got it from the Goodwill a few blocks away, or maybe he stole it. We're not above doing that sort of thing, y'know. Ginyu's getting our plates and junk together, one utensil per person; that's all anyone really needs. Dish detergent is a luxury, too, so our plates and bowls don't always get so clean. Here come 'Coom and Guldo. That was fast, but I'm not complaining. Now we can finally eat. We can only afford two meals a day now: breakfast and dinner. Sucks hard, this depression. I remember learning about the first one in high school. (1930s, was it?) I remember thinkin' how people could have had the balls to keep goin'. I'm going through it now and I still don't know how it is my friends and me are still alive...

We don't say grace anymore when we sit down to eating; everything that's happened is God's fault so why should we thank him for anything?

Ginyu's over by the window now, havin' a puff of a cigarette. He always smokes after breakfast over there at the window leading to the fire escape. He likes to look over the cityscape, I guess. That old city, gray and dirty, smoggin' up the whole damned planet. I smoke, too, even though I know it'll kill me in the end. …Maybe I should smoke more often. At least then I'd be free from this fuckin' life.

"'Ey, someone get the door, yeah?" Recoom's in the bathroom—getting' ready to go to work—which is down a little ways from the front door. Hell, I didn't even hear it, but I guess not; I'm in my room. Well, mine and Berter's. Don't know where he is right now.

"Yeah?"

Ah. I guess Ginyu was closest. 

"What the hell do you want?"

Awww, damn. I know that tone…

"Your rent's late."

"You get your money when you get it. If you care about it so much, you'll be patient and shut up about it."

"Look, Ginyu, I've been giving you too many breaks on this. You guys have to pay your rent just like everyone else."

"What are you going to do, evict us? Look around, Raditz. See the condition of this city, this state? No one has money to pick up and move to get here, so you'd better hold on to the tenants you have, even if they do pay late every month."

And Ginyu slams the door in his face. Yeah, this is how it is every month. Raditz, the son of the building's superintendent, goes around collecting checks or money orders for the rent. As far as I know, we're the only ones who give 'im beef about it. I don't fault him for it, though. He's been pretty cool with us since we've lived here and he's only doing his job. The other guys are okay with him, and so is Ginyu, that is, until the first of the month rolls around. I don't think it matters too much. They get their payment in the end and we keep on living here. I wonder what kind of place Raditz lives in… Probably a nice little house in the suburbs, white picket fence, and maybe a dog or a cat. With 18 tenants on the lease, it's more than likely a step up from this squalor. Hey, what are we going to do if Bardock really does kick us out one day?

"He's not. He needs the money. Let's just worry about what to do about food for now."

Oh, yeah. I'd forgotten. See, things are so bad that the local government had to, uh… redistrict the whole city. Now everything centers around what market or supermarket you live closest to and depends on whether your ID ends in an odd or even number. If it's even, you get to shop on Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays. Odd gets you Tuesdays, Thursdays, and Saturdays. Sundays give the stores time to restock. I think it's bullshit, but then again, I was pretty damn used to going to the store whenever I wanted. We only have about $10 between us until 'Coom gets his check, and it's Monday, which means not a one of us can go shopping until tomorrow. Just how the hell did we plunge so low that people can't even buy food when they want?

I see all these folks on the TV trying to sell their fancy sports cars and their DVD players, designer clothing and shit, always happy, looking like they enjoy life. And here I sit on the other end, a poor young man and jobless to top it off. 

……I get the feeling we're being picked on sometimes.


	3. Hard Day's Work

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Waste 

Stage 02: "Hard Day's Work"

"Argh, it **would** rain the day we have to work outside! Bullshit!"

We got an offer to pick up trash along 141 the other day. Didn't pay a lot and we'd have to wear ugly white jump suits, but you know we took it, right? We're out on there now, actually, and we're not in any danger, despite the fact we're on a highway. People don't have the gas money to be doing any major traveling up and down and all over the place anymore—Gotta save every penny you can, y'know—so traffic is light. I don't like people who litter, but I don't mind picking up after them for a quick buck. Today we get to buy food, plus after this is done, we get paid in cash. That's going straight toward bread and meat for our little family.

Hmmm…… I haven't used that word in a while.

I miss bein' a little kid. Not because I didn't have responsibilities or anything like that. Hell, no. Even then, the world sucked and so did its people, but I didn't notice. What's that's real fancy word for 'ignorant'? ……Naïve. That's what I miss being. I miss my dad, too, the old drunk. Probably the reason why I drink so damned much. Wait, wait. I'm getting' off topic. Anyway, I had a real nice family, all guys. Just me, my dad, and by two older brothers. They're all in other parts of the country, too far away for me to visit often. We weren't tight-knit, but we got along fine. I don't know what ever happened to our mom. I never knew her; only saw her in pictures. Never really cared, to tell the truth.

Back to this now, it's raining. And not a nice, warm, summer rain, either. This shit is C-O-L-D. One of the guys just sneezed. Don't know who, but I hope their not catching a co… a cu… a... ACHOO!! A cold… (sniff) The last thing we need is one of us walking around sick. Car's comin' up. Watch it, guys.

"……Aww, you asshole!!"

Ha ha ha! Some jerk totally soaked 'Coom on his way through..! Pretty funny! If it were me, though, I'd piss **all over** that dude. It's alright, though. We'll be done in a little bit. Not many cars equals not that much trash, but certainly enough to put a little cash in the stash, or toward it. Ha. The dude who hired us even offered to give us a ride back in his sweet ride. You guessed it, a minivan. Employers make me wonder, where do they get the money to hire their workers? It really should be a common sense answer, but I don't know it. Shouldn't worry about it too much, I guess. As long as it's nothing **too **illegal, right? 

Cartels, kingpins, the Mob, rings, all those big time hustlers, we're not into that. Hey, we may buy marijuana and steal used clothes and stuff, but the only risks we pose are the ones that can hurt us and us alone. If we do something 'wrong,' then we should be the only ones to suffer the consequences. Never dragging anyone down with us, that's the kind of logic we all share. 

If your gonna break the law, make it a small one. I prefer jaywalking.


	4. Feeling Somewhat Xenophobic

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Waste 

Stage 03: "Feeling Somewhat Xenophobic"

Did you know that for $5 you can eat for an entire working week? That's right. Taco Bell, man. That place is fuckin' AWESOME, and that's no lie. All that's left is to wonder why the people downstairs don't cook the food they serve there. The apartment below us? Yeah, a family of Mexicans live there, and I don't mean a mom, dad, and two kids, either. Hell, there are three generations in that one little three-bedroom..! But that's not important. The problem is their food. It just… stinks. I mean, you can't even place the odor. You keep sniffing and sniffing and… nothing, y'know? Today the closest guess I can make is pancakes and cat feces. And another thing, who cooks at midnight? Can't tell you how many times I've woken up choking from the stench of garlic in the middle of the night…

Recoom speaks fluent Spanish. I didn't find out until a couple of months ago, when they first moved in, all eight of them. Didn't know they ate dinner at midnight, either, but that's somethin' else. The whole frickin' building stunk with garlic, right? And Ginyu—he's got mad sinus troubles, so really strong odors'll trigger 'im headaches—was getting sick again, so he told one of us to go down and tell those guys to knock it off.

Since 'Coom and I were up still, we flipped a bottlecap to see which one of us was going down. Of course, it'd hafta be me…

Hey, sorry to interrupt your dinner or whatever but stop using so much garlic, yeah? You're making my friend sick.

"¿Qué?" 

I **said**, you're making my friend sick. Knock it off with the garlic, yeah?

"¿Qué?"

…You don't speak English, do you?

"No hablo Inglés."

So I went back upstairs. "Everything set?"

Nah. They don't speak English. 

"Shoot. I shoulda went... Be right back."

So he broke it down español style to them and it didn't change a thing. Or maybe it did. Now that we have el señor Recoom in our arsenal, they'll be hearing from us a bit more. Either way, that odor hasn't let up any since that day. It kinda makes me mad, y'know? Not just about them not lightening up, but that one of us should have to cater to the fact that they choose **not** to speak the language of the land. And believe me, 9 out of 10 of them **do **speak English and fluently, at that. Listen up, if you're coming to a country where you know the native tongue is different from yours, don't you think you oughta bone up a bit? But as an American, who am I to talk? Hell, practically all of Europe caters to our linguistic laziness… 

You know what? Who cares? Who honestly gives a shit? Sure, we could bother to learn, but why would we? I don't want to talk to foreigners, do you? It's one thing for directions or the time, but hey… I got nothin' against immigrants or aliens or whatever. This country's supposed to be the 'melting pot,' right? I think it's enough to just let them live here and work. It's not a matter of them not being able to speak the language; it's a matter of them not wanting to.

There. I've done my patriotic duty. I'm gettin' some tequila.


	5. Snow Meow

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Waste 

Stage 04: "Snow Meow"

I noticed there are a lot of stray cats hanging around lately. Personally, I'm not a big fan of 'em, or animals in general, but the rest of the guys love 'em. There are three regulars that we see in the parking lot: Camel: Kinda skittish, sandy-colored, missin' an eye, Guldo's; Slim Jim: Real nice cat, gray and white, still young judging by the coat, Recoom named it; Jefferson: Ugly and drooly and brindle—Those're really the only words to describes it, Berter's cat. There's this dog that comes around every so often, too. Um… Not very big, 'sgot real wirey hair, looks like that dog in Annie… Ginyu named it Bizzy Bone.

"'Cause he's always 'bizzy' looking for a bone! Ha!"

I never **was** much for plays on words... He was either drunk or high or both when he came up with it, I'm sure, not that I'd remember, of course. I was probably in the same condition(s). We're all sitting outside now in the lot, leaves rustling. Hope I don't get another tick on me…

"Winter's going to be harsh this year, I hear." Berter's over and lookin' at Jeff, sitting on the hood of a lowrider. That so? Too bad for the cats, huh..?

"And Bizzy Bone, too." 'Coom's on the curb trying to get Slim Jim over, 'bout three or four feet from 'im. "Shame we can't take them in."

"Don't have the money to take care of animals. They could have fleas or ticks, besides…" 

"Yeah, never thought of that." Hey, good call, Ginyu. For anyone who doesn't know what it's like to have a tick in their hair or fleas in their beds, they are some lucky fucks, and that's all I've got to say about that.

It's almost time for 'winter procedure'. Y'see, strays are regarded as pests, sad to say. So, the city crew that's hired as the exterminators, y'might say, leave poisoned bits of food about for the animals to find. Like I said, I don't like the dirty things but that's no way to take care of business. Come December, there may not be a Jim or a Jeff or a Bizzy to say 'hi' to every now and again. I know I have it bad, but it's always worse for those strays. Hell, for all I know they could've been somebody's pets once. Nobody's got the cash to be taking care of cats and dogs much anymore. I'm glad we don't see so many dogs, though. Kinda dangerous, know what I mean? Remember Cujo? That's what I'm talkin' about. I'm not saying people need to worry about rabid St. Bernards or anything, but we do have a lot of wooded areas around…

The winters normally aren't too bad around here, pretty mild, usually don't get a lot o' snow. It's been kinda weird the last two years, though. It like everything decided to get so goddamned difficult all at once, yeah? We're on the third floor of this apartment building, and I'm gonna let you know right now: If someone tries to tell me that heat rises, they're getting' their teeth kicked in, swear to God. If heat's supposed to rise, then why have we been freezing our asses off for the past two winters when we should be the warmest damned fools in the building? To top it off, those bitch generators keep cuttin' off just when we need them the most..! Makes me wonder why I didn't pick up and move to California with the rest of my family. Snowstorms rather than earthquakes, I guess…

My kingdom for a space heater? Sold.


	6. The Trouble With Relations

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Waste 

Stage 05: "The Trouble with Relations"

I'm in trouble.

I am in serious trouble.

I met this girl a few weeks ago when I went out to buy some beer, hangin' at the liquor store lot. I remember getting' a boner the minute I saw her dressed in this tight black skirt, sportin' a (faux) leather jacket and a choker to match. Other than that, I didn't think too much of 'er, so I went about my business and bought my beer. Came out and she was still there, alone, so she started talkin' to me. So we get into it and I end up goin' to her place. Nothin' much, just an apartment not too far from where I was, a little nicer, though. It was getting late, I know. Remember seeing the night buses on their routes on the way there. She had the place to herself, she said, and asked if I felt like 'sleeping over.' ……I, um… hadn't been with a girl in a real long time so I didn't have any kind of protection on me, not that I'd have the cash on me for any of that. 

She gave me a call today. Don't know how she got my number. Maybe I gave it to her the next morning. I don't know. Either way, I heard from her again. It sounded like she had been crying when I talked to her over the phone. She said she had something very important to tell me and asked if she could come over. Nothin' really clicked right there, so I gave her the address. Looked like she **had** been cryin' when she got to the door. It was just me there—thank God—so I brought 'er in and sat 'er down in the armchair.

……Turns out she was a minor… and I think I got her pregnant...

"…Well..?"

Well, what?

"Say something..!"

What am I supposed to say, huh? That I'll take care of you and the baby? How do I even know that it's mine? How do **you **know you're even pregnant? (And what's more, what do I do about the statutory rape charge I could face along with it, but I'll just keep part that to myself.) 

"I took a home pregnancy test. …It came out positive."

Those things are unreliable. You can't tell me anything…

"What if I **am **pregnant? What then, huh..?"

I wouldn't know. I don't suppose I was the only one you slept with..?

Hmm, I thought so. There were **at least** three other guys. That's how much she let on. Her parents are out of town a lot, I hear, so there's a good chance this kid may not be mine. Jesus, I hope not. I mean, if it **is** mine, I'm not gonna skip out on it, yeah? If you do something that hurts or burdens another person, you better face the consequences. That's also part of our logic. 

And besides, I'm already wading knee-deep in jail time for sleeping with a 17-year old… I'm not gonna give her something to use against me.

Look, you'll be all right. Do you want the kid?

"…I… I don't know." She's shaking…

We can't determine whose kid it is until it's born…

"What about my parents..?"

I can't guide you through everything. You knew full well what might happen. Time to break it to your folks. Come on. I'll walk you home.

"I can get there myself…" She's showin' herself to the door. "Thanks, Jeice, for talkin' with me…"

It's cool. Good luck with your folks. 

And she's gone, just like that. That was kinda weird, playing the responsible adult. But really, what **am** I supposed to do about this..? I could be the father of that girl's kid..! I don't even remember her name! Christ, this is really stupid……

I mean, this is **really **fucking stupid…

Couldn't stop thinkin' about it, you know? What would happen if the kid was mine, if anyone found out I slept with a **girl** girl? The guys'd keep askin' me what was wrong, and I'd just keep boozin' and usin'.

Funny thing is, after a while, I was pretty damn fine with the idea that I might have a baby to help fend for…

I got another call about two months later, a week before today. It was that girl again, whose name I found out to be Caitlyn, with some pretty disturbing news.

She had an abortion. I couldn't believe it, honestly couldn't. Hung up on her before she even finished talkin'. Now no one'll ever know whose kid that was. That kid'll never live to be a kid, either. Before all this happened, I would've said a woman's got a right to choose. I can't really say anything in this case, knowing that I might have been the father. I don't think I'm ever going to get over it completely. That baby's dead and I'll never know if it was mine… All this from one night of pleasure..?

……Never again.


	7. Happy Downward

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Waste 

Stage 06: "Happy Downward"

I'm not high, but I feel so good. The sunlight… it's so… warm. The bed feels so nice, my sheets are clean, no sweat 'r vomit 'r urine, just white like the paint on the walls. Berter looks happy, too. He's sleeping, but no tossin' or turnin', looks right comfortable, too, considerin' the bed's too small for him. Mmm… Stretchin' out nice… Ah… 

We bought food—a whole fridge full of meats and cheeses and bread and fruit and soups and canned veggies in the cabinets. I feel like a kid at Christmas, y'know? It's just been so long since we had a decent meal. Last night was wonderful. Ginyu made a beef stew, a thick, hearty slop with potatoes… Oh! And green beans and carrots and corn! We were all so very grateful, I guess that would be the term. Um… Joyful, maybe? I was so happy, a belly full of hot food, I wanted to cry. My body was truly fed for the first time in 10 days, and not with just eggs or a Hot Pocket or cup-o-noodles or dry cereal, but—honest to God—**real** **food**!

"Telephone!!" 

Yeah, yeah. I'll get it. H'llo? …Oh, hey! What's goin' on? ……Nah, I ain't sittin'. ……Why? ………………….

…………………

…………………

……………God..?

The tap water tastes wonderful today. Is it supposed to be that way, when you haven't eaten in a long time? Should everything be delicious? My skin is normal again, not dry and cracking like it was, and the shower's fixed, too. I'm clean and fed and just incredibly relieved, y'know? Why can't everyday be like this, where I'm sober and lively and thinkin' real clear? It's like listening to chimes… Lovely, little chimes in a waltz beat. I know, I know, doesn't sound like me at all, right? Twenty-six years old and hear I am beboppin' around like I'm half that age, but just look at me..! I've got a clean shirt and slacks to match, a nice winter coat and a cap! My bed is flea-free, my blanket is thick and my sheets are clean, I'm so happy…!

……So then, why am I crying..?

"Jeice? Woah, man. What wrong? What's the matter?"

Go away… Just go away, man…

"Hey, come on, now. I'm here for you, man. Just tell me--"

Ginyu, I don't wanna talk now. Just go away, yeah..?

"…Yeah. We'll talk later… You just go ahead and deal, right? You want the door closed?"

Don't care, man…

He closed the door; I thought he would. 

This is new, this kind of pain… It's horrible, just won't subside. My throat's dry, I wanna throw up, I'm shakin', and now, I'm not just cryin'; I'm bawlin'. Is this what I get? This your way at getting back at me for that kid, God?

"H'llo?"

"Jeice? It's Sauza."

"Oh, hey! What's goin' on?"

"You sittin' down?"

"Nah, I ain't sittin'."

"Well, you might want to."

"Why?"

"Um… The uh, paramedics tol' me the old man was rear ended by a guy doin' like 75… He busted his head wide open on the steering wheel on the impact, they said. Died instantly, brain still swellin' up inside. Um, we're gonna have a service in about five days. If you can't make it, we understand. We're getting the body creamated, thinkin' about spreadin' the ashes, too. So, do what you gotta and let me know, yeah? Bye…"

…Dad's dead… My dad's dead…… 


	8. Ashes and Macintosh

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Waste 

Stage 07: "Ashes and Macintosh"

It was a nice little ceremony, the view, my brother told me. Not a big, turnout, though. I couldn't make it either, but they understood. I went to a viewing once as a kid—7 years old, I think—some distant relative we knew nothing about or cared to died so we went to pay our respects. I thought the old woman was just sleeping, so I didn't think too much of it. Dad won't have a burial, though. Sauza's gonna have him cremated, then all that's left is to spread the ashes or place him on a mantle, I guess. I wonder, if I died, would the guys have my body burned and the remains stuffed in a jar? Probably. It's a lot cheaper than finding land space for a body and they wouldn't have to maintain it; just an urn to dust off every so often. It's kinda weird, y'know? Here one minute, gone the next, yeah? Really kinda silly, y'know? 

……I've gotta stop this cryin'; It's been three days… I'm a man, I can deal with it. My old man's probably looking down (or up, most likely) laughin' at me. He always laughed when I cried, sayin' stuff like, "Boy, whatcha cryin' fer? Just a scratch, son!" or "Boy, turn off them waterworks and straighten up!"

They guys have just kinda backed off, let me have my space. I let 'em know, when I finally calmed down a little. My eyes are still reall puffed up, kinda like mushrooms. This headache o' mine ain't quittin', either. I'm bein' real selfish, sittin' here locked up in my room 'n' bein' looked after but the guys, bless 'em. "I'm well off but not. Lucky, but ain't," that's what Dad used to say. I think I understand now, what he meant. I've got a home, food (every now and again), and clothes on my back, but no steady job and no steady income. Four great friends—each one I'd lay my life down for—but no family in sight to say the same. 

……Oh, well.

Three days ago the best thing to happen to us in a real long time did. 1) We got an oddjob. 2) We made money—a **whole lot** of money. 3) We didn't spend it on booze. The buses are still running; that's a good thing. We wouldn't have been able to make it out there to work if they work, right on, public transit. Packin' up crates of apples—which sell well no matter how bad things get—at $8.65 an hour per person and workin' a two-day 12-8. Never was good at math, but I think I can figure this out. Okay… 7 times 5 is 35… 35 times 8… No, wait. 7 times 8 is 56… Carry the 2… Anyway we made roughly $700, which meant we could pay our rent **on time**, an easy $375, (merry Christmas, Raditz and Bardock) our bills—basic utilities clocks out at an estimate of $250—and have plenty left over for food and clothing. And what's more, ol' Bardock sent up a maintenance dude to fix our shower as a 'holiday treat.' Good ol' Saiyan, bless your furry tail. 

We got our first snow of the season this morning. Nothin' much, a light dusting, an eighth of an inch. Berter was talking about making sno cones and I just laughed. It felt nice doing that again. We all had cocoa with a little scotch later that evening and just joked around for the rest of the night. Hmm…... I think… as long as everyone's here with me… I'll be alright, or at least a little better. Maybe winter won't be so bad, after all...

Happy holidays.


	9. I Hate Hospitals

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Waste 

Stage 08: "I Hate Hospitals"

It takes the amount of alcohol in 4 ½ 40s for a Bas-jin to die of alcohol poisoning. 

Guldo had 4 last night...

Thank God Ginyu was still sober enough to call 911. It's a deal we have that whenever we drink we have one of us stay clean enough to make sure Guldo doesn't kill himself. He's just so small, y'know? 4 ½ 40s is nothing for the rest of us, but we could lose him if we aren't careful. Last night, we weren't so careful. New Year's Eve came and went and we got totally smashed. It was a good thing we got our stuff before the night rush, or maybe it wasn't if you take the time t' look. Poor Guldo, I wish we'd paid more attention. He spent the rest of the night in ICU havin' his blood filtered. We stayed with 'im the entire time, but speakin' for myself, I wanted out. 

Bad.

God, if it's one place I can't stand being, more than the mall, more than the laundromat, it's a hospital. All those tubes 'n' needles 'n' sick people… Ewwww………… The whole thing sends chills down my back. I dunno, maybe I'm just bein' paranoid, but I've got good reason, right? I mean, you wouldn't think you could catch sick in a hospital of all places, would you? Well, you'd be **damned** wrong! A house full o' people with viruses and bacteria and it don't cross your mind that y'might pick up somethin'? It's called 'common sense', kids. Try usin' it sometime… Hey, man. I'm, uh… really sorry about last night.

"Same here."

"My fault, too. Shoulda kept an eye out, yeah?"

"Sorry, little dude." 'Coom ruffles his imaginary hair. "We ain't very good friends, I guess…"

"Don't worry about it. I knew better. My own fault. Thanks for getting' me here, though."

That's our Guldo. He don't care, real forgivin' like that. Just keeps on goin' like nothin' ever happened… He's a good guy. Needless to say, I think the next time we decide to get drunk off our asses, uh… Hmm… We, ah…… Well, I guess we'll be more careful. I was hoping for something a little more dynamic, but that's all I got. Oh, well. Even if we slipped up this time, at least we're smart enough to learn from our mistake. Good men usually are. 

Heh, listen to me with all this gibberjabber, goin' on like we're some kind of saints. We ain't no angels, just an impoverish bunch of guys with a love of liquor and smokin' leaves. Speakin' of which, I wonder where they stash the weed……

**** ****


	10. Headlights on the Highway

****

Waste 

Stage 09: "Headlights on the Highway"

Y'ever been out late at night ridin' 'long the highway and see a bunch of lights from oncoming traffic spillin' over the horizon? Makes you feel kinda peaceful, don't it? It would, you stupid fuck. Cars make me sick……

I remember, as a kid-- well, not s'much a young kid. I was teenaged at the time-- Dad an' me would go take rides up an' down the highway, good ol' South 141. He'd have the radio on some soft rock station (He liked th' easy listenin' stuff) and a big smile on his face, kinda grizzled and never clean-shaven. I'd just be enjoyin' the night ride, not carin' where we were headed, looking' on at all the pretty headlights on the other side of the road. Not so memorable lookin' at it from a dirty city bus...

It ain't often we get out during the night. We had a few dollars left from the last odd job, so we went out for some burgers. That was a little while ago. It's about 9:45 now an' we're the only ones on the bus. Guldo has to have th' window seat, as usual. I just get stuck sitting with Berter. I love 'im and all, but he **always** falls asleep on the way home! And it's not that far, either! He's worse than a kid, I tell ya! At least their small enough to tolerate but we're talkin' a guy who's twice my size and weight here..! Never mind that he's got a window on his other side that's just begging to be leaned against… Anyway, Ginyu's content to sit by himself--he likes his personal space, I guess. He's been my buddy since I was 10, y'know. I'd always go over his house and play Nintendo, Mega Man 2 was our favorite. We've done just about everything two straight young men can do with each other: smoked our first cigarettes together, got into our first bar fight together, got arrested together… It's kinda silly, yeah? Me, as an adult, still idolizing my best friend like this?I dunno. Don't care, really.

There's a lot o' traffic out tonight. Kinda strange for this day and age but maybe it's a sign thing're lookin' up. I hear we might be goin' t' war, too. That'll give the economy a good kick in the ass t' get goin'... Maybe we'll even find a few job openings not too long from now. All I know is every little bit helps, even if we've gotta bomb the hell out of some foreign country to get it. 

Heh. I remember about the Gulf War an' Desert Storm an' all that back in the day. I was 15 and dumb ol' Sauza wanted to join the Marines. Dad wasn't tryin' to hear that, though. 'No son o' mine is gonna ship off and die in some desert nation! Screw our country!' Ha ha ha... That was Dad, all right. I didn't really care about the war, so long as it didn't come home. People tend to be like that. As long as they're not affected, they go on not thinkin' about it, which is one of the reasons why I hate rich people so damned much... Well, enough of that. We're home now and I'm tired. I'm just gonna keep livin' my life and maybe, in the end, it won't have been such a waste after all... 

G'night. See you when I see you.

****

END


End file.
